


Day 28: nothin' like this type of view

by embodied



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Kid Fic, M/M, Photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-15 07:20:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8047474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embodied/pseuds/embodied
Summary: “This how you want me, Steve McCurry?” Louis asked breathily, lifting his head to look Harry in the eye. Harry took a second to consider it, and there’s something about light composition and exposure, shadows and contrast, but he couldn’t remember anything about that when all he was thinking about was - 

  “Hands and knees.”





	Day 28: nothin' like this type of view

 Harry stared blankly at his open laptop, sighing heavily. It was only noon, but it was becoming obvious he wasn’t going to get anything done today.

He’d woken early, not that he was a late sleeper normally, but early enough to make Louis a pot of coffee and watch an entire episode of Law and Order before he even heard the shower turn on. Since then he’d had a restless, boring day, tacking maybe one hundred words onto his latest chapter before giving up and taking the kids to the shops just for something to do. Thoughts of the upcoming weekend kept him from writing anything more once they’d returned, so now he sat at his desk, fingers absently tapping nonsense onto the screen. After holding down the _j_ key for an entire three pages, he huffed and shut his laptop. If he wasn’t going to write, he may as well at least do something more productive than this.

He started by cutting up some fruit, something for George and Isabelle to munch on once they woke up from their midday nap, did the washing up from lunch, then called Louis at work while he was still on his break. He was immediately pleased to find out that he might actually be home on time tonight, since one of his meetings has been cancelled. They spoke about their days for a few minutes, until Harry was cut off by Louis’ assistant informing him that his one o’clock had just checked in. They exchanged _I love you’s_ , then Harry set to work cleaning Ziggy’s box and refilling Zuko’s water.

Somehow making his and Louis’ bed resulted in reorganizing their closet, which he was ninety percent sure hasn’t ever really been organized in the first place. There were all Louis’ neatly pressed shirts hanging up, then mostly just boxes upon boxes of things they’d never gotten around to unpacking after all these years. Frowning, Harry began sorting through them one by one. Mostly they’re rubbish, clothes they never wore nowadays, empty picture frames, baby toys that Izzy and George were too old for now and shoes that didn’t fit them anymore. If Harry weren’t so bored he might’ve just thrown it all away, but instead he sorted it all into piles: things to throw in the bin and things to donate and things they might want to keep. The latter pile was looking exceptionally small, consisting of only one of Izzy’s tiny newborn baby caps that he just couldn’t throw away, a ratty sweatshirt Louis used to wear in uni, and Zuko’s favorite rope toy that they’d both thought was lost for eternity.

He got more careless as he went, knowing the kids wouldn’t be asleep much longer and he couldn’t just leave the mess on the floor. Finally, he opened the last box, humming in surprise to discover that it was all his own things from a photography course he took in school. There was a point in his life where he was obsessed, it was what he wanted to _do_ , but then life took its course, and he found something he was even more passionate about.

There were a couple of portfolios, which he set aside for a different time, as well as notebooks and textbooks that were useless to him now, but near the bottom of the box was a couple rolls of film and his old Polaroid. Harry smiled at that, fingers tracing absently around the rim of the lens. God, he hadn’t used it in ages, but memories of his and Louis’ early relationship immediately surfaced in his mind. Photos of hazy Sunday mornings, photos of Louis posing exaggeratedly for the camera, photos of Louis shooing away the camera, complete with a middle finger halfway concealed by his sweater sleeve. Blurry drunk photos, photos of friends they don’t talk to anymore and friends that they do. Harry used to take that thing _everywhere_ , back when he was barely twenty-one and so, so in love, he was  _still_ so in love, and now he remembered it all so vividly that he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten for so long. He set the camera aside, in the keep pile just because, before he could get too nostalgic and cry, or something equally ridiculous.

He focused his attention back on the box, specifically on an envelope on the very bottom, yellow at the corners. It was completely blank other than a smiley face stamped in the middle, scrawled on hastily in fading black pen. Harry’s breath hitched. He picked it up gently, but he didn’t open it, no, he didn’t need to to know what was inside.

“Daddy!” a loud voice suddenly shouted, causing him to drop the envelope back in the box like it’d burned him. Isabelle burst into the room not a second later, never one for knocking as he and Louis have learned over the years. Harry could barely get out a “Hi, sweetheart,” before she was barreling towards him, cupping her hands around his ear like she was telling a secret. Only, she hasn’t quite got down the concept of whispering yet, so when she spoke it was loud and enthusiastic as ever, even more so in her excitement.

“I weed in the big girl toilet all by myself!”

“Yeah?” Harry asked, a slow smile stretching across his face as his daughter beamed and nodded at him. “And you flushed?”

Isabelle nodded again, using her little finger to make a swirly motion in the air.

“And you remembered to wash your hands?” This time Izzy’s smile dimmed, but she nodded again, less enthusiastically.

“Did you really?” Harry asked again, lifting an eyebrow and assuming his sternest Dad Face that Louis found laughable at most times. Say what he will, though, because it always worked. Like clockwork, Isabelle frowned and muttered, “no,” solemnly avoiding Harry’s eyes.

“That’s alright, love. You’ve just got to remember, or else what’s gonna get you?”

“The icky germs!” Isabelle shouted, all the enthusiasm returned as she punctuated her statement by sticking her tongue between her teeth.

“That’s right,” Harry affirms, standing and scooping his daughter from her feet in one swift movement, grinning as she squealed delightedly. He’s resigned to finishing his closet-organizing extravaganza later, the camera and the envelope all but forgotten on his bedroom floor. Life usually got in the way.

_____

_Harry got in later than usual, having gone out with a few friends to celebrate the end of midterms. Louis had stayed in, his last exam postponed until the morning, so Harry shivered his way to his flat alone around two a.m._

_For their eight-month, Louis had surprised Harry with his very own key to Louis’ flat, because he came and went so often anyway. His halls were loud, his twin bed too small for the both of them to sleep in comfortably, much less do anything else, which the dorms lacked privacy for anyway. Harry wasn’t moved in by any means, but Louis had his own kitchen and a big shower that always had hot water and a sofa for them to cuddle and doze through movies on, so they spent a majority of their nights in there. It made nights like this more convenient, especially, nights where Harry was too drunk and cold to come home to anything other than Louis._

_Their eight-month was four months ago today. That marks that around this same time one year ago, Louis drunkenly called Harry his boyfriend because he “couldn’t think of a better word.” Needless to say, it stuck._

_Harry climbed the steps two at a time, sweater sleeves pulled taut over his knuckles, before he finally reached Louis’ door and fumbled for his key. The living room was dark, but he was surprised to see the dim lamplight leaking through Louis’ cracked bedroom door. He let the door lock behind him and dropped his laptop bag on the sofa, kicking off his shoes. He rubbed his hands together briefly, wishing he’d worn gloves because Louis always complained about his cold hands._

_He crept into Louis’ bedroom, smiling softly when he saw him hunched over his laptop and dozing, glasses so far down the tip of his nose that they’re nearly falling off of his face. His Interpersonal Communications textbook was lying open next to him, so Harry bookmarked his page just in case and set it on the floor, before wiggling off the majority of his clothes and taking its place on the bed. Apparently Louis had gotten bored studying, because his laptop was open to an unfinished game of solitaire. Amused, Harry shut that too and gently slid it off his lap, making him stir into a half-conscious state._

_“Was playing that, asshole,” he mumbled, before promptly burying his face into Harry’s neck, glasses and all. Harry wasn’t complaining, resting his chin on his boyfriend’s head._

_“I wish you came out with us,” he murmured after a moment, lightly combing his fingers through Louis’ hair. Louis only hummed quietly against his skin, mostly asleep again already. Or, at least, Harry’d thought he was, but after a moment he spoke again._

_“Have fun still?”_

_“Mm,” Harry hummed. “Niall kissed Bressie on a dare but I think he liked it.”_

_“And you got photos, I hope?”_

_“Video.”_

_“This is why I continue to date you.”_

_“The only reason?”_

_“Yes.” Harry didn’t bother challenging that. They both knew it wasn’t true._

_“Speaking of which,” he started instead, fiddling with the sleeve of Louis’ shirt._

_“I know, babe.” Louis reached up and patted his cheek gently, wiggling down into a better position so that Harry could lie down as well. Satisfied, Harry slid Louis’ glasses off his nose and reached over him to set them on the table on Louis’ side, then stretched further to flick off the lamp._

 

 

 _The sun woke Harry before anything else, thanks to Louis’ lack of blackout curtains. He blinked fitfully, groaning softly and reaching out to where Louis was supposed to be, but his arm was met with nothing but a cold expanse of empty sheets. He listened for the shower, but all he heard were chirping birds and fellow tenants of the building presumably banging on the other side of the wall. It was then he remembered Louis had probably left hours earlier for his last midterm, so he groaned again, louder this time. He spent the next few seconds mourning his loss, and deciding he hated whoever lived next to Louis, because they were having what sounded like a great morning shag and it probably wasn't_ their _anniversary._

_He didn’t let his envy keep him for long, though, because it was probably weird to continue to listen to the neighbor’s sex, so Harry kicked off the duvet and forced himself to sit up. He scratched at his belly and stretched his long limbs, before bending down and digging his phone out of the pocket of his discarded jeans. He unlocked it, noting that his battery percentage was dwindling, but pleased to see that Louis texted him a string of messages around seven that morning._

Happy anniversary, lovely !!

Sorry I couldnt wake up next to you, prof is a dick

There’s water in the kettle, also might have left you something on the counter to keep you entertained :)

Will be back by 11!!!! we can get lunch and then celebrate ;)

I love you !!!!!!!!!!! xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

p.s you thought I’d forget didnt you. Ha !

_Harry fondly shook his head at the messages (to think Louis always called him the sappiest one), but he only managed to tap out a few letters of his response before his phone promptly died on him. A glance at the clock told him Louis’d be home in less than an hour, anyway, so instead of bothering with it he tossed it aside and stumbled his way to the kitchen with the duvet wrapped tightly around his shoulders._

_He set to making himself a tea, despite the fact that Louis only bought Yorkshire and he was an Earl Grey man himself. He mostly zoned out while he steeped and stirred, before his eyes focused on a cube-shaped box complete with a poorly tied ribbon just to left of the toaster. He’d completely forgotten Louis’ mention of a “something”, but the bolded_ H _pasted on the side made it glaringly obvious that he was staring at it. Carefully setting aside his mug, curiosity got the best of Harry as he clutched at his blanket with one hand and plucked at the ribbon with the other. He lifted the top off of the box to reveal a shiny Polaroid camera and several rolls of film, and had to bite his lip to keep from smiling too wide. He remembered telling Louis he wanted one months ago, well, more distinctly he remembered Louis calling him a disgusting hipster (“well, a cute one, anyway”), but the point is, Louis remembered too. Harry was so hopelessly endeared._

_It didn't stop there. There was an envelope at the bottom, carefully sealed. Harry gently broke it, expecting a card, or maybe a gift certificate to his favorite restaurant. It was rather thick, though, so he wasn’t quite sure what to expect._

_Certainly the last thing on the list was a dozen or so Polaroid photos of his boyfriend’s bare ass, his soft cock, then his hard cock, then his fingers on his tongue, and several others that were so explicit Harry had to hold his fucking breath. He flicked through them again and again, thinking they deserved an exhibit at the Currier, only they were all just for him. His tea might have actually gone cold by the time he was done admiring (except he was never going to stop admiring), his fingers shaking in the slightest as he tucked them back into the envelope._

_If he loved his gift initially, he loved it more now, though he didn’t know how he’d ever take a photo with the constant reminder of what Louis had done with his camera before Harry ever even touched it. Once he’d tucked every photo away again, he turned the envelope over in his hands, searching for a cheeky note or any explanation as to why Louis thought it would be a good idea and not torturous at all to get Harry all worked up in the middle of his kitchen, alone and before noon, even._

_All that faced him was a tiny smiley face stamped in the middle, scrawled on hastily in black pen._

_____

“No, honey, it goes like this, see? Draw a hook, and put a hat on it,” Harry explained to Isabelle for the third time, carefully taking her pencil and drawing a _5_ amongst her mess of scribbles. She’d been insistent that Harry teach her how to draw numbers after that afternoon’s episode of Sesame Street, so they’d been working on it for an hour or so whilst Harry kept an eye on George snacking in his high chair.

“It’s too hard, Daddy,” Isabelle whined, pouting out her bottom lip and throwing her pencil on the table with enough force to send it bouncing to the floor. They’d been struggling with _5_ for quite a while now, but luckily Harry had the patience.

“Hey, now, don’t throw. What would Papa say if he saw you do that?” Harry scolded calmly, raising his brow at his pouting daughter.

“Go in timeout,” Isabelle answered solemnly, her arms crossed moodily.

“That’s right. Pick up your pencil and be nice and you can stay in here with us, alright?”

Isabelle obeyed quickly, and it took just a little motivation to get her to resume her attempts. Harry showed her one more time, very meticulously mapping out each line and curve for her, then got distracted by a giggling George finishing with his grapes and tossing the rest to the floor piece by piece. He quickly jumped up and took his tray from him, picking up the remnants from the tile before Zuko could get them and lifting him from the chair to wipe his juice-sticky chin. He only let him down when he began to squirm, spinning to check on tonight’s soup simmering on the stove.

“Daddy, I did it!” Isabelle shouted behind him. Harry hummed and stepped back toward the table, bending to look at her paper and locate her newest additions. There were a few more misses, but among them was a perfect _5_.

“See, I told you you could,” Harry exclaimed proudly, kissing his daughter’s hair. “Do you remember which one comes next?”

Harry scooped up George, the toddler steadfastly making his way out of the kitchen, most probably to torture the cat. He settled him in his lap as he resumed his spot next to Isabelle at the table.

“Six,” she stated with confidence, beaming when Harry nodded and held out his free hand for her pencil.

“Right, so six…”

 

Not long after five, Harry was taking the dinner rolls from the oven and instructing Isabelle to go wash up for dinner when Zuko barked and scampered off toward the foyer, his paws skidding on the hardwood as he rushed to the front door. Seconds afer, the sound of the door opening and closing followed, and not a minute later Louis ambled into the kitchen with his tie already loosened. Harry looked up from fastening George into his high chair, tucking a loose curl behind his ear and smiling at his husband.

“Hi, babe, we’re just about to sit down. How was work?” he asked, finishing fitting George’s tray into the slots and stepping forward to peck Louis on the mouth. He listened as Louis told him about his day, only interrupted by Isabelle dashing in and pawing at Louis’ shirt until he lifted her up onto his hip and held her while Harry began setting up their plates.

Nights where they could all sit down for dinner together were inarguably the best, although rare. Nothing made Harry happier than listening to Louis and Isabelle bantering playfully across the table, even if it meant he had to diffuse more arguments than usual. Even better than that was the after part, Louis clearing the table while Harry started a bath for the kids, Harry braiding Isabelle’s wet hair for bed while Louis got George settled down with a bottle, and finally doing the washing up side by side. It was the same old routine, but it was mostly reserved for weekends when having Louis around was always guaranteed. It felt nice, no, it felt _incredible_ to cozy up with his husband at a decent time, on a Friday night at that.

With the kids in bed, they settled in on the couch in their pajamas, Harry flicking through the channels with Louis curled into his side. He ended up settling on a rerun of EastEnders, not because it was something they watched, but because the sudden feeling of Louis’ warm lips on his neck was distracting enough to make him give up and set the remote down. It was a welcome distraction, however, Harry’s breath gradually picking up as Louis began to work on a mark just under the cut of his jaw. Then Harry felt teeth, sharp and insistent right on the soft spot below his ear, and almost let loose a groan.

“God, Lou. Right now?” he asked, breathless, and only earned a hum in response, followed by Louis’ tongue flicking out to soothe Harry’s skin.

The thing was, Harry hadn’t stopped thinking about the photos, and that afternoon when he’d gotten a second to get everything put away, he couldn’t help but mess with the camera. He’d put in a new roll of film, and taken a photo of his socked feet just to see if it was still good. After discovering that it was, it left him thinking, and after the idea struck he couldn’t shake it. He took a deep, shaky breath before speaking again.

“Hey, wait, Lou.” Louis’ mouth stopped working against his neck, but his cool breath on the spit-slick skin almost made Harry think _fuck it, nevermind, carry on_. Once he pulled back to fully acknowledge him, though, Harry’s focus sharpened and he regained his capability to speak. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course. Something wrong?” was Louis’ immediate response, eyebrows furrowed as he sat up straighter, and moved his hand - which had been resting dangerously low on Harry’s belly - up to drift across his forearm.

“No, no, not at all, just - do you remember what you got me for our first anniversary?” Louis narrowed his eyes, clearly thrown off, but before he questioned it he actually cocked his head to think about it.

“Um - yeah. Yeah, I took you to see Coldplay, right?” he guessed after a few seconds, letting a beat pass before he added, “What, d’ya wanna see them again?”

“No, babe, our other first anniversary. The _very_ first one.” Harry used Louis’ hesitation to decide how he’d word it, how _exactly_ one asks their partner permission to take pornographic photos of them.

He saw the exact moment when it dawned on Louis, his face pulling together in an expression of half-realization, half-embarrassment.

“The stupid camera you wanted, where it printed all the little photos,” he answered apprehensively, but it was obvious he knew exactly what Harry meant.

“Mm,” Harry affirmed, not missing the way Louis’ tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. “Well, you’ll never guess what I found today.”

“Where’re you going with this, H?” Louis asked, and, there it was. Harry knew he’d have to explain himself eventually, but he couldn’t help but hope Louis would just _infer_.

“I want to take photos. Of you. Of us,” he said in one breath, his hand slipping underneath the hem of Louis’ shirt. “Have ‘em with me when you’re gone, take them out when I need to remember what you feel like. Just like I did with the ones you gave me back in uni.”

“Christ, you do get excited over some glorified nudes, don’t you?” Louis teased, but Harry could tell he was doing something right, because Louis’ eyes were hooded, and his mouth slack.

“You’re unbearable, you know that?” Harry chuckled, his knuckles ghosting up Louis’ spine just so he could watch him shiver.

“That’s no way to get a boy to take nudes for you,” Louis replied, smirking, and that’s how Harry knew he’d won.

In no time Harry had Louis upstairs with the door shut tight behind them, and Louis pressed right up against it. The mission at hand was temporarily forgotten as they kissed slowly, hungrily, hands roaming languidly as Harry fumbled for the lightswitch. He let Louis take off his shirt, but he stopped him when he made to take off his own, pulling away with a wet sound.

“Hang on,” he said, turning and opening the top drawer of their dresser, where he’d hidden the camera earlier that day. He dropped his body onto the bed, scooting his back against the headboard and laughing breathlessly at his husband’s incredulous expression as he raised the camera.

“Carry on,” he urged, making Louis snort.

“Oh, yeah, ‘cause this makes for a sexy striptease,” he scoffs, gesturing down to his sweats and paint-stained t-shirt. Harry shrugged, camera still poised in the air.

“I think it’s sexy,” he offered, truthfully, might he add.

“You’re such a dick, honestly,” Louis responded very untruthfully, his grin betraying him as he stripped off his shirt with exaggerated sensuality. He was in no way taking Harry seriously, but Harry snapped a photo anyway, watching it print and slowly come into focus. Louis snatched the opportunity to kick away his sweats, with much less gusto, and crawl between Harry’s open legs. He nudged the camera out of the way to kiss Harry’s jaw, settling over his lap. Harry spread his free hand out over Louis’ back, his bare skin aflame under his palm.

From there Louis moved his head lower, kissing Harry’s nipple, and then the other, pausing to blow cool air over the wetness. Then his mouth ghosted down his ribs, over his hips, and his fingers pressed gently into the soft skin of his belly. Harry watched him carefully, his cock thickening quickly from the teasing. He held the camera up again, his breath coming out in soft puffs as he waited for Louis to _do_ something, anything. Finally, Louis made quick work of tugging Harry’s joggers over his hips, but not before flicking his tongue out to taste the soft skin of his hips. Harry reached out to run his fingers through his feathery hair, and that’s when he pressed the shutter in again, capturing that intimate moment. He reached to set that one with the first, to form a neat pile on the nightstand, but while he was distracted was when Louis finally decided to take his cock into his mouth. The photo drifted to the floor instead, but Harry couldn’t be less bothered.

Louis moved his mouth with a precise rhythm, the way he knew drove Harry mad. The way they knew each other’s bodies was something only time and experience could amount to, and it was surreal in the sense that every move, every flick of his tongue was specifically executed to cater to what he knew Harry loved. Harry wanted to capture every moment, every bob of his head, so much that he wished he had a video camera instead, but he settled for quick little snaps. Something tangible that he could hold in his hand was worth it, anyway.

 _Click. Click. Click._ Louis’ mouth on Harry’s cock, his slender fingers pressing down on Harry’s belly, his piercing eyes staring straight into the lense. Harry couldn’t get enough, and if Louis wasn’t taking it seriously before, he certainly was putting on a show now.

“Fuck. Louis,” Harry groaned, breathless. Everything all at once was getting him close, and fast, too, but he didn't want to come just yet. He pulled gently on Louis’ hair, a subtle hint, and when Louis lifted off of him, he couldn't help but take a photo of his spit-slick lips hovering just above his cock. _Click._

“D’ya wanna fuck me?” Louis asked, which was his not-so-subtle way of asking to be fucked. There was no way Harry was denying him, though, not with the way he was palming his own cock through his briefs like that, eyes wide and desperate.

Instead of answering Harry reached for the lube, setting his camera down momentarily. Louis smirked, knowing he’d gotten his way, and made to lie down on his back, but Harry stopped him.

“Wait, babe. On your belly,” he instructed, Louis’ eyes flicking up to his before he rolled over easily.

Harry had two motives for this. One, he loved the way Louis’ back always arched when he fucked him like this, and two, he knew their tattoos would line up - H and L, respectively - perfectly for the camera.

“Take your pants off, love,” Harry said, already spilling lube over his fingers. Louis didn’t argue, lifting his hips so he could wriggle out of his briefs effectively, exposing his round arse. _So gorgeous_ , Harry thought, thumbing at the scripted _H_ inked just below the curve. He picked up his camera with his clean hand and snapped a shot, making Louis laugh a little and turn his head in his arms.

“You gonna do anything or are you just gonna take photos of me?” he teased, but it was fond, it was never anything but fond.

“Mm. Could you spread for me?” Harry requested, kneeling comfortably between Louis’ thighs. And he meant his legs, but Louis did him one better and used to hands to spread himself open instead. _Click._

Harry didn’t waste another second to get to work, but when he fingered Louis open he liked to do it slow, quite the fan of taking his husband apart before they've even gotten started. He worked his way up from one to three, so fucking slowly, taking his time with each. Louis didn't even complain, seemingly content with this pace, if his quiet, drawn out moans were anything to go by.

 _Click._ This one was Louis spread out on three of his fingers, body taught and back arched just the way Harry loved. It was a sight to behold, tantalizingly so, so once the picture printed Harry pulled out his fingers and wiped them carelessly on the sheets. By that point Louis was panting heavily, the baby hairs at the base of neck curling and sticking to his skin with sweat.

“You’d think I’d be used to you being the biggest fucking tease by now,” he huffed, muffled by the way his head was buried between his elbows.

“Sorry, baby. I’ll make up for it,” Harry promised, reaching for the lube again to slick up his cock. He felt around for his camera with his free hand, the other working the lube messily over his cock, and kneeled over Louis’ body to press a kiss to the side of his neck.

“This how you want me, Steve McCurry?” Louis asked breathily, lifting his head to look Harry in the eye. Harry took a second to consider it, and there’s something about light composition and exposure, shadows and contrast, but he couldn’t remember anything about that when all he was thinking about was -

“Hands and knees.”

Louis sighed like it was a great inconvenience, but if it really was he wouldn’t be so quick to oblige. Harry leaned back into a kneeling position so Louis could maneuver himself onto all fours, massaging his husband’s thigh absentmindedly as he waited for him to get comfortable.

As he lined himself up he smoothed his palm over Louis’ arse, giving him one sharp smack with the back of his hand because he just couldn’t help it, honest. Louis reacted beautifully, head dropping between his arms as he giggled out a breathy, “oh, fuck you,” followed by a whimper as Harry took that moment to begin to push in. _No, fuck you,_ Harry meant to respond, but when he opened his mouth all that came out was a low groan.

Louis seemed to echo his sentiment, pushing back subtly as Harry bottomed out. _Click._ Their tattoos matched up perfectly, a hair’s breadth from touching.

This time, Harry’s movements were anything but slow, his hips fucking into Louis in quick, shallow thrusts. He fucked him like they were losing time, but they had all night, they had every night.

 _Click._ Louis’ head between his arms, having dropped down to his elbows, causing this gorgeous arch in his back where sweat pooled in the dip of his spine. Harry couldn’t capture his noises, but he wishes he could, all these whimpers and drawn out moans. Each photo he took now got carelessly swept away, he’d pick them up later. Now, though, he was so fucking close that he couldn't bother to pile them up neatly, all of his focus and drive put into finding the perfect angle to push them both to the edge.

After a few more shots, no doubt blurry and indistinct, he dropped the camera all together, curling his body around Louis’ so he could get a hand on him as he fucked him harder, deeper. The two of them had created a rhythm, Louis rolling his hips back as Harry grinded forward. That was the thing about being with the same person for so long, they each knew exactly which buttons to push. It just worked, always.

Harry panted into Louis’ neck, his thrusts becoming more and more sloppy by the second. He was too close, but Louis beat him to it, spilling into Harry’s fist with a moan that was much too loud for their thin walls.

Harry made to pull out, but Louis stopped him with a hand on top of his, muttering something that sounded like, “in me.” Harry made a noise dangerously close to a whimper against Louis’ sweaty neck, holding him tightly as he pushed in one, two, three more times, and then he was coming, hard and a lot.

“Fuck,” he panted out, taking a second to breathe before sitting back on his wobbly knees and pulling out his softening cock carefully. Dumbfoundedly, he watched his come spill out of Louis’ hole, dragging his finger through the mess as if he hadn’t seen it a hundred times before. _Click._

Then they both sort of collapsed at the same time, sweaty and covered in each other’s come as they curled around each other despite it all. It was still fairly early, and Harry was sure a shower was in the works, but for now he was content to just lie there with the man he loved most.

Harry wasn’t sure how long it’d been, but Louis was the one to sit up first, eventually, and promptly break into a fit of laughter. Harry cracked one eye open to see his husband shifting through the pictures, scattered everywhere from the mattress to the floor.

“Where the bloody hell are we meant to put all these?” he chuckled, showing Harry one where he was lying on his belly, three fingers shoved in his arse.

“Dunno,” he mumbled, voice hoarse and sleepy like he’d just woken up. “Somewhere very, very safe.”

“Mmhm,” Louis hummed in agreement. Harry let his eyes drift shut again, lying flat on his back with his arms behind his head. He had almost started to doze off, listening to the sound of Louis shuffling the photos around, when -

_Click._

He blinked his eyes open, both this time, to see Louis sat cross-legged across from him with the camera poised in the air. He quirked an eyebrow at him, mouth quirked.

“What? Only fair,” Louis warranted, taking the photo from the camera and watching it develop. Harry’s mouth curled into a smirk, and he couldn't even argue when the shutter went off again. It _was_ only fair.

_______________


End file.
